Face the Fire

"This," Mia said as the sun broke the sky in the east with an arrow of fire, "is for us. The Midsummer sabbat, the celebration of the earth's coming bounty, the warmth of the air, and the full power of the sun. We are the Three."



"Yeah, yeah." Ripley yawned hugely. "And if we can get on with this, I might be able to get home and catch another hour's sleep."



"Your reverence is, as always, inspiring."



"You'll remember, I voted against standing around up here at dawn. Since it's Sunday, both of you can go back to bed. I'm on duty all day."



"Ripley" - Nell managed to make her voice mild and patient - "it's the solstice. Celebrating the longest day should begin when the day begins."



"I'm here, aren't I?" Ripley scowled at Nell. "You're awfully bright and chipper for a pregnant woman. Why aren't you flat out with morning sickness?"



"I've never felt better in my life."



"Or looked happier," Mia said. "We'll celebrate fertility today. The earth's and yours. The first balefire has burned since sunset. The dawn fire is for you to light."



She lifted a circlet she'd woven from lavender and set it on Nell's head. "You're the first of us to carry life, and to take what we are to the next generation. Blessed be, little sister."



She kissed Nell's cheeks, then stepped back.



"Okay, that gets me misty." Ripley moved up, kissed Nell in turn, then linked her hand with Mia's. Nell lifted her arms and let the power ripple into her. "From dawn until the day is done, this fire we make glows bright as the sun. As light grows strong across the sky, I call the flames from air to fly. Burn no flesh, no feather nor tree. As I will, so mote it be."



Fire spewed up from the ground, bright as gold.



Mia lifted another circlet from the white cloth on the ground. Set it on Ripley's head. Though she rolled her eyes for form, Ripley lifted her arms. The power was warm, and welcome.



"In the earth we sow our seed that she may grant us what we need. Across her breast the dawn brings light, all through this day to shortest night. We celebrate her fertility. As I will, so mote it be."



Wildflowers sprang up through the earth to ring the circle.



Before Mia could reach for the third circlet, Ripley picked it up, and kissed her. "Just to make it official,"



she said and settled the flowers on Mia's hair.



"Thanks." She, in turn, lifted her arms. Power was like breath. "Today the sun holds its full power. Its strength and light grow hour by hour. Its bright fire warms the air and earth. Its cycle sustains us birth to death to birth. I celebrate the fire in me. As I will, so mote it be."



From her fingertips beams shot, to the sun, and from the sun to her. Until the circle in the clearing shimmered with the birth of the day.



She lowered her arms, joined hands with Nell, with Ripley. "He watches," she told them. "And he waits."



"Why don't we do something about it?" Ripley demanded. "The three of us are here, and like both of you keep hammering home, it's the solstice. That's a lot of punch."



"It isn't the time to - " Mia broke off when Nell squeezed her hand.



"Mia. A show of force, of solidarity and strength. Why not make a point? Our circle is whole."



A point, Mia thought. Perhaps the unbroken circle was the point. At least for the moment. She could feel, through the link, Nell's determination, Ripley's passion.



"Well, then, let's not be subtle."



She gathered herself, and the pooled strength of her sisters.



"We are the Three and of the blood," Ripley began, moving like her sisters in a ring within the ring.



"From us the force and light will flood."



"With might that strikes the waiting dark." Nell's voice rose to echo on the air. "An arrow of light toward what bears our mark."



"Here we stand so you can see." With hands still joined, Mia lifted her arms. "And beware the wrath of the sisters three."



Light spewed up from the center of the circle like a funnel, whirling, roaring as it geysered up. Like the arrow Nell had called, it shot out of the circle, out of the clearing, and into the shadows of the summer trees.



From those shadows came a single furious howl.



Then there was only the quiet breeze and the musical call of crystals hanging from branches.



"So he slinks away," Mia remarked.



"That felt good." Ripley rolled her shoulders.



"It did. It felt positive." Letting out a long breath, Nell looked around the clearing. "It felt right."



"Then it was right. Today, he can't touch us or ours." Whatever came after, Mia thought, they had made a stand.



They had made their point. She lifted her face to the sun.



"It's a beautiful day."



She intended to spend it in her garden, away from the crowds that would pack into the village and the traffic that would stream along the roads. She intended to spend it on simple things, the tasks that gave her pleasure.



A day without worry, she thought. A clean and clear day with all shadows brushed away like dust with a broom.



She gathered the herbs and flowers she'd selected for her midsummer harvest with a bolline, the curved white-handled knife she saved for that purpose alone. The scents and shapes and textures never failed to delight her, the variety of their uses never failed to satisfy.



Some she would dry by hanging them in her kitchen, some in her tower room. She would make charms from some, potions from others. From soaps to creams to healing balms and divination aids. And some would simply be sprinkled into sauces and salads for flavor, or mixed into a potpourri to scent the air.



Just before twelve she stopped to light the noon balefire. She set it on her cliffs, like a beacon. And stood for a time watching the sea and the pleasure boats that skimmed over it. Now and then she saw the glint of binoculars and knew she was watched as she watched. There! the summer people would say. Up on the cliffs. She's supposed to be a witch. Such attention would once have caused her to be hunted and hanged. Now, Mia thought, the possibility of magic brought people to the island and into her store.



So the wheel ran, she mused. A circle spinning.



She went back to her garden. When her herbs were tied and hung, she used the sun to brew a small pot of chamomile tea. She had it iced with a hint of fresh mint when Sam stepped onto her path.



"Traffic's a bitch," he said.



"Midsummer and Mabon draw the most tourists." She poured the tea into a glass. "Tourists who are interested in such things," she added. "Did you light your balefire?"



"This morning, near your circle in my woods. Your woods," he corrected when she arched her eyebrows. Absently, he reached down to pet Isis, who had come to rub against his legs. He noted the new collar and the charm hanging from it, a pentagram carved on one side, a sun wheel on the other.



"New?"



"For the Midsummer blessing." She cut a slice of bread from a fresh loaf, drizzled it with honey, and offered it to him. "I made more than the faeries need."



He took a bite, but she noticed that his restless gaze roamed her garden. It was rich and ripe with summer, the tall spires dancing in the breeze, the mobs of color tumbling over the ground. He watched a hummingbird flash by, then drink from the long purple bells of foxglove. Roses, red as passion, climbed up the trellis to her old bedroom window as he had once climbed, risking flesh and bone to reach her.



The scent of summer roses could still make his heart ache.



Now he sat with her, in the sun and dappled shade of her garden. Adults with more weighing on them than the girl and boy could have imagined.



She wore a sleeveless dress, green as the lush leaves that surrounded them. And her face, beautiful and calm, told him nothing.



"Where are we, Mia?"



"In my midsummer garden, having tea with bread and honey. It's a lovely day for it." She lifted her cup.



"But judging from your mood, perhaps I should have served wine."



He rose, paced away. He would, she knew, tell her what was on his mind soon enough. Whether or not she wanted to hear it. Only a few nights before, he'd been lighthearted and playful enough to coax her into a swim. But today there was a cloud around him.



He'd always been a moody creature.



"My father called me this morning," he told her.



"Ah."



"Ah," Sam repeated, and managed to make the syllable a bite. "He's 'displeased with my performance.'



That's a direct quote. I'm putting too much time and money into the hotel here."



"It's your hotel."



"I pointed that out. My hotel, my time, and my money." Sam rammed his hands into his pockets. "I might've saved my breath. I'm told I'm making rash and dangerous financial and career decisions. He's pissed off that I've sold my place in New York, annoyed that I've budgeted so much for the rehab at the hotel, and irked that I sent a proxy rather than attending the June board meeting personally."



Because she felt for him, Mia rose and rubbed his stiff shoulders. "I'm sorry. It's difficult ramming up against parental disapproval. It doesn't matter how old we are, it stings when they don't understand us."



"The Magick Inn is our first and oldest asset. He's figured out that I finessed it from him. Now it's like a bone he wants to drag back from me."



"And you're just as determined to keep your teeth in it."



He shot a furious look over his shoulder. "Damn right. He'd have sold it to strangers years ago if he hadn't been legally bound to keep it in the family. He sold it to me happily enough, but now he's realized I intend to make something of it, so he's irritated. It's a thorn in his side. So am I."



"Sam." For a moment she pressed her cheek against his back. And for a moment she was sixteen again, and comforting her unhappy, moody love. "Sometimes you just have to take a step away, and accept what is."



"What is," he agreed, turning to her. "He never could. Neither he nor my mother ever accepted what I am. It was something not to be discussed, as if I had some sort of embarrassing condition."



Furious, as much because of letting himself be sucked in again as by the facts themselves, he strode down the path, through an arbor where morning glory vines were busily tangling.



"It's in his blood as much as mine." He saw her start to speak, then stop herself. "What? Just say it."



"All right, then. It's not the same for him. You respect what you have, you celebrate it. For him it's a . . . well, a pesky inherited trait: He's not alone in that. And because of it, you have more - are more - than he can ever have or be."



"He's ashamed of it. And me."



"Yes." Her heart wrung with pity. "I know. It hurts you. It always has. You can't change what he thinks or feels. You can only change what you feel."



"Is that how you handle your family?"



It took her a moment, and that was a jolt, to realize he meant her parents and not Lulu, or Ripley and Nell. "I used to envy you on some level. Just the fact that your parents worked up the interest and energy to push at you. Even if it meant pushing you in the wrong direction. We never argued here."



She turned back to study the house she loved. "They never noticed if I was angry. My rebellions were completely wasted on them. There came a point when I had to accept that their disinterest wasn't personal."



"Oh, for Christ's sake."



She nearly laughed at his impatient explosion. "It was healthier, and more practical, and certainly more comfortable all around. What was the point of breaking my heart over it, when they wouldn't have noticed? Or if they had, it would have baffled them. They're not bad people, just careless parents. I'm who I am because they were what they were. That's enough for me."



"You always were sensible," he replied. "I could never figure out whether I admired that or found it annoying. I still can't."



"You always were moody." She sat on the bench by the arbor. "And the same goes. Still, it's a shame the call put a blight on your holiday."



"I'll get over it." He slipped his hands into his pockets again, fingering the tumbling stones he'd forgotten he carried. "He expects me back in New York within the month, to resume my proper place in the company."



Her world tilted. She gripped the edge of the bench to balance herself, then forced herself to her feet. Forced shut that piece of her heart she'd allowed to be touched by his pain. "I see. When will you leave?"



"What? I'm not going back. Mia, I told you I was here to stay. I meant it, no matter what you think."



With a careless shrug, she turned to start back to the house.



"Damn it, Mia." He grabbed her arm, pulled her back.



"Watch your step." She said it coldly.



"Are you just waiting for me to pack up and go?" he demanded. "Is that where we are?"



"I'm not waiting for anything."



"What do I have to do to get us past this?"



"You can start by letting go of my arm."



"Letting go is just what you expect." To prove her wrong he took her other arm so they were facing each other in the dappled shade of the path. "So you won't let me touch you, not where it matters most. You'll take me to your bed, but you won't come to mine. You won't so much as sit and have a meal with me in a public place, unless it's under the guise of business. You won't let me talk about the years without you. And you won't share magic with me when we make love. Because you don't trust me to stay."



"Why should I? Why should I do any of those things? I prefer my bed. I don't choose to date. I'm not interested in your life off-island. And to share magic during the physical act of love is a level of intimacy I'm not willing to explore with you."



She shoved his hands aside and stepped back. "I've given you cooperation in business, some friendly companionship and sex. This is what suits me. If it doesn't suit you, find someone else to play with."



"This isn't a goddamn game."



Her voice was sharp. "Oh, isn't it?" He stepped toward her, and she held up her hands. Light, spitting red, shot between them. "Be careful."



He merely held up his own hands, and a wash of searing blue water struck the light until there was nothing but the sizzle of vapor between them. "Was I ever?"



"No. And you always wanted too much."



"Maybe I did. The problem was I didn't know what I wanted. You always did. It was always so fucking clear to you, Mia. What you needed, what you wanted. There were times when your vision choked me."



Stunned, she dropped her hands to her side. "Choked you? How can you say that to me? I loved you."



"Without questions, without doubts. It was as if you could see the rest of our lives in this pretty box. You had it all lined up for me. Just the way my parents did."



Her cheeks paled. "That's a cruel thing to say. And you've said enough." She hurried back down the path.



"It's not enough until I'm done. Running away from it doesn't change anything."



"You're the one who ran." She whirled back, and the pain of it crashed through all the years and struck her with a fresh blow. "It changed everything."



"I couldn't be what you wanted. I couldn't give you what you were so sure was meant to be. You looked ahead ten years, twenty, and I couldn't see the next day."



"So it's my fault you left?"



"I couldn't be here. For God's sake, Mia, we were hardly more than children and you were talking marriage. Babies. You'd lie beside me when my head was so full of you I couldn't think and talk about how we'd buy a little cottage by the woods and . . ."



He trailed off. It seemed to strike both of them at once. The little yellow cottage by the woods - where she hadn't come since he'd moved in.



"Young girls in love," she said, and her voice trembled, "dream about marriage and babies and pretty cottages."



"You weren't dreaming." He walked to her table again, sat and dragged his fingers through his hair. "It was destiny for you. When I was with you, I believed it. I could see it, too. And at that point it smothered me."



"You never said it wasn't what you wanted."



"I didn't know how, and every time I tried, I'd look at you. All that confidence, that utter faith that this was the way it would be. Then I'd go home and I'd see my parents and what marriage meant. I'd think of yours and what family meant. It was hollow and airless. The idea of the two of us moving in that direction seemed insane. I couldn't talk to you about it. I didn't know how to talk to you about it."



"So instead, you left."



"I left. When I started college, it was like being torn in two. The part that wanted to be there, the part that wanted to be here. Be with you. I thought about you constantly."



He looked at her now. He would say to the woman what he'd never been able to say to the girl. "When I'd come home on weekends, or breaks, I'd be half sick until I'd see you waiting on the docks. That whole first year was like a blur."



"Then you stopped coming home every weekend," she remembered. "You made excuses for why you needed to stay on the mainland. To study, to go to a lecture."



"It was a test. I could go without seeing you for two weeks, then a month. Stop thinking about you for an hour, then a day. It got easier to convince myself that staying away from you, and the island, was the only way I was going to escape being trapped into that box. I didn't want to get married. I didn't want to start a family. Or be in love with one girl my entire life. Or root myself on a little island when I'd never really seen the world. I got a taste of the world in college, the people I met there, the things I learned. I wanted more."



"Well, you got more. And the lid's been off the box for a number of years. We're in different places now, with different goals."



He met her eyes. "I came back for you."



"That was your mistake. You still want more, Sam, but this time I don't. If you'd told me this eleven years ago, I would have tried to understand. I would have tried to give you the time and the room you needed. Or I'd have tried to let you go, without bitterness. I don't know if I would have succeeded, but I know I loved you enough that I would have tried. But you're not the center of my life any longer - you haven't been for some time."



"I'm not going away, or giving up."



"Those are your decisions." Ignoring the headache brewing, she gathered up the tea things. "I enjoy having you for a lover. I'll regret having to end that, but I will if you insist on pressing for a different dynamic in our relationship. I think I'll get that wine after all."



She carried the dishes inside, rinsed them. The headache was going to plague her, so she took a tonic before selecting a bottle of wine, taking out the proper glasses.



She didn't allow herself to think. Couldn't allow herself to feel. Since there was no going back, no crisscrossing over paths that were already long overgrown, the only direction was forward. But when she stepped outside, he was gone.



Though her stomach fluttered once, she sat at the table in her midsummer garden and toasted her independence.



And the wine was bitter on her tongue.



He sent her flowers at the bookstore the next day. Simple and cheerful zinnias, which in the language of flowers meant he was thinking of her. She doubted he knew the charming meaning of a bouquet of zinnias, but puzzled over them nonetheless as she selected a suitable vase. It wasn't like him to send flowers, she mused. Even when they'd been madly in love, he'd rarely thought to make such romantic gestures.



The card was explanation enough, she supposed. It read:



I'm sorry.



Sam



When she found herself smiling over the flowers instead of getting on with her work, she carried the vase downstairs and set it on the table by the fireplace.



"Aren't those sweet and cheerful?" Gladys Macey slipped up beside her to coo over the bouquet.



"From your garden?"



"No, actually. They were a gift."



"Nothing perks a woman up more than getting flowers. Unless it's getting something sparkly," Gladys added with a wink. She slid a discreet glance over to Mia's left hand. But not discreet enough.



"I've found that a woman who buys herself something sparkly ends up with something that suits her own taste."



"Not the same, though." Gladys gave Mia's arm a quick squeeze. "Carl bought me a pair of earrings on my last birthday. Ugly as homemade sin, no question about it. But I feel good every time I put them on. I was just on my way up to the cafe to see how our Nell's getting on."



"She's getting on beautifully. When she tells you she thinks she's started to show, just go along with her. It makes her happy."



"Will do. I just pre-ordered Caroline Trump's new book. We're all excited about her coming here. I've been delegated by the book club to ask if she would agree to doing a book discussion just before the official signing."



"I'll see if I can set it up."



"Just let us know. We're going to give her a real Three Sisters welcome."



"I'm counting on it."



Mia made the call to New York herself. Once the wheels were set in motion, she checked her book orders, called her distributor to nag about a delay in a selection of note cards, then picked up the newest batch of e-mail orders.



As Lulu was busy, Mia filled them herself, slipping in the notice that signed copies of Trump's book would be available. Then she carted them down to the post office.



She ran into Mac as she came out again. "Hello, handsome."



"Just the woman I was looking for."



Smiling, she slid her arm through his. "That's what they all say. Are you on your way to the cafe to meet Ripley for lunch?"



"I was on my way to the bookstore to talk to you." He glanced down, noted that she was wearing heels.



"No point asking you to take a walk on the beach with me."



"Shoes come off."



"You'll ruin your stockings."



"I'm not wearing any."



"Oh." He flushed a bit, delighting her. "Well, let's walk, then, if you've got a few minutes."



"I always have a few minutes for attractive men. How's your book going?"



"Fits and starts."



"When it's finished, I expect Cafe Book to host your first signing."



"Nonfiction books with academic bents on paranormal science don't exactly draw in the crowds for book signings."



"They will at Cafe Book," she retorted.



They crossed the street, winding through the pedestrian traffic. Families returning from the beach, their skin pink, their eyes blurry from the sunlight, trudged into town for lunch or a cold drink. Others, loaded with coolers, umbrellas, towels, sunscreen, walked toward the sand and surf. Mia slipped off her shoes. "By the time the solstice crowd thins out, the Fourth of July crowd will stream in. We're having a good summer on the Sisters."



"Summers go fast."



"You're thinking of September. I know you're concerned, but I have it under control." When he didn't speak, she tipped down her sunglasses and peered over the tops. "You don't think so?"



He struggled with the guilt of keeping Lulu's incident from her, weighing it against her peace of mind. "I think you can handle just about anything that gets tossed at you."



"But?"



"But." He laid a hand over the one she'd curled around his arm. "You play by the rules."



"Not honoring the rules is what put us here."



"Agreed. I care about you, Mia."



She leaned her head on his shoulder. Something about him made her want to cuddle. "I know you do. You added to my life when you came into it. What you and Ripley have together adds to it."



"I like Sam."



She retreated, lifting her head. "Why shouldn't you?"



"Look, I'm not prying. Okay," he corrected, "I'm prying, but only for practical and scientific purposes."



"Bullshit," she said, laughing.



"All right, mostly for those purposes. If I don't know where the two of you stand, I can't weigh my theories and hypotheses. I can't calculate what we might need to do."



"Then I'll tell you we're, for the most part, enjoying each other. Our relationship is primarily comfortable and largely superficial. As far as I'm concerned, it's going to stay that way."



"Okay."



"You don't approve."



"It's not for me to approve. It's for you to choose."



"Exactly. Love, consuming and obsessive, destroyed the last sister. She refused to live without it. I refuse to live with it."



"If that was enough, it would be over."



"It will be over," she promised him.



"Look, Mia, there was a time when I believed it could be that simple."



"And now you don't?"



"Now I don't," he confirmed. "I was up at your place this morning. You said I could go up and take readings after the solstice."



"And?"



"I went up, took Mulder with me so he could get some exercise. To keep it simple, I'll say I started getting snags in the readings right at the edge of your front lawn. Positive and negative spikes. Like a . . ."



He slammed the heels of his hands together to demonstrate. "One ramming against the other. I got similar readings around the verge, straight toward the cliffs on the other side of the lighthouse, and into the forest."



"I haven't been lax in protection."



"No, you haven't, and it's a damn good thing. We followed the readings away from the clearing, away from the heart. My sensors started going wild, and so did Mulder. He damn near snapped the leash. There's a path of negative energy. I could follow it, the way it circled around, like an animal might stalk prey."



"I know it's there, Mac. I don't ignore it."



"Mia, it's gaining strength. There were places along that path where everything was dead. Brush, trees, birds. The pup stopped straining at the leash and just curled up, crying. I had to carry him, and he didn't stop shaking until we'd come out again. We came out, following that path, at the north end of your cliffs."



"Have Ripley do a cleansing spell on the puppy, and on you. If she doesn't remember the ritual - "



"Mia." Mac grabbed her hand in a tight grip. "Don't you understand what I'm saying? It has you surrounded."